To The Slaughter
by RobinRocks
Summary: USUK. "An oath." Alfred put out his palm. "Swear yourself to me, Arthur, and I to you." Fourth of July fic with a hint of Sweet Devil. In two parts.
1. I

Standard horrible Fourth of July fic in two parts. ...Not much else to say, tbh. XD

To The Slaughter

[I]

"You know," Arthur said lazily, lowering his book, "nobody believes that you exist."

Alfred, filthy as usual, beamed down at him. "Nobody?" His eyes were as wide and blue as the sky behind his head.

"Well, you pick your moments, don't you?" Arthur sighed. "Inopportune."

Alfred grinned. "My timing is impeccable, Arthur." He put out a dirty hand. "Come one, let's go and play."

"I oughtn't." Arthur held up his book: Milton's _Paradise Lost._ "Francis is testing me on this tomorrow."

Alfred rolled his eyes, kicking up some dust. "How dull," he lamented. He bounded under the shade of tree Arthur was lying against, skipping about him. "That sort of thing is no fun at all! Come, let's go to the orchard!"

Arthur frowned, remembering the beating. "We got caught last time," he said. "I would rather not repeat the experience."

"The river, then!" Alfred seized his arm, pulling him up. For a child two or three years Arthur's junior, he was surprisingly strong, able to drag Arthur to his feet. "Please, Arthur! Do play with me!"

"Oh, alright, alright, you little rapscallion." Arthur shook himself free, smoothing down his fine clothes.

" _Rapscallion_!" Alfred gave a squeal of delight. "Whoever heard of such a word?!"

Arthur flushed. "I read it in a book," he said defensively. "Perhaps if you were more cultured–"

"Books!" Alfred flounced away, laughing. "As if I've the time for such things!"

"It shows." Arthur carefully tucked his book under his arm. He paused, watching Alfred flit about restlessly. A thought, not a new one, occurred to him. "You know, if you can't read, I should be more than happy to–"

"Teach me?" Alfred tilted his head at him. "No thank you. I'll become a bore like you."

Again Arthur felt his face grow hot. "I-I'm not boring!"

"Not when you're with me." Alfred seized his hand, pulling at him. "Come on," he urged. "Come on!"

He broke into a run across the grass, hauling Arthur after him, and they vanished through the brush and were gone, leaving the house behind them.

Arthur Kirkland was the only son of a wealthy British tea-trader. At eleven years old, he was pampered, well-educated and bored out of his mind. Boston's steamy summers and bitter winters all blended into one hazy miserable slog through the jewelled rooms of his elaborate cage. He had no friends his own age and spent most of his time furiously reading to make up for it.

He had met Alfred in late December, standing alone under the naked black birch at the end of the lane. It had been snowing and the boy had been barefoot, not that he'd seemed to much mind. His pockets had been full of red berries. He'd seemed like a fairy or a witchling to Arthur, who had instantly fallen in love with him. To this day, he didn't know much about him – where he lived, who his family was, if he even had any – though he knew him to be poor, working class or lower still, judging by the state of his clothes. All of these things he tried to entice out of Alfred, to no avail. The boy simply smiled his gorgeous smile and led him astray.

Alfred – and there could be no doubt about it – was a troublemaker. He led Arthur on wild escapades to steal apples and pen nibs, to trespass into neighbouring fields and open up the gates, letting sheep run amongst goats. Arthur went along with him not so much because he enjoyed what they were doing – although confessedly the wicked novelty did excite his stagnant blood a touch – but because he completely adored Alfred. He coveted him as the little brother he would never have, wishing that he could smuggle him into the house and dress him up smartly and pass him off. Alas, Alfred was much too wild to even attempt to act the part. He flitted like a bird, he ran barefoot like a fox. In a game of chase through the woods, Arthur had no hope of ever catching him.

There was, of course, an additional flaw to Arthur's grand scheme of installing Alfred as a permanent fixture in his life: nobody believed that Alfred even existed. Every time Arthur was escorted home by the local constable by the collar of his frockcoat, Alfred had long since fled, disappearing – it seemed – into the ether. Arthur's protests to his father, to his tutor Francis, that he'd had an accomplice, an angel-faced little blighter called Alfred, fell on deaf ears. His father believed this to be an excuse on Arthur's part, that it wasn't his fault, he wasn't to blame, which made the punishment all the more severe. Francis, on the other hand, was all at once blunter and more fanciful.

"An invention," he sighed in the heat of the day, fanning himself. "Unsurprising, non? You have no friends, Arthur, except for those on pages and in your head. He is an excuse for your deviant behaviour."

Despite this peril of his friendship with Alfred, Arthur couldn't bring himself to cast him off, nor despise him for long. Alfred was infectious – the more Arthur wanted to push him away, the more he couldn't bring himself to even think about it. He was happy to get in trouble, to tear his clothes and anger his father, as long as he could keep him close.

He couldn't go back to a life absent of him, devil though he was.

* * *

Alfred, at least, didn't seem to be much in the mood for mayhem today. He trotted ahead, quite unfazed by briars and thorns, leading Arthur through the forest.

"Quite where are we headed, Alfred?" Arthur always made a point of acting stern with him, being his elder, but the truth was that he would go wherever Alfred led. It was hot, unbearably damp, and even the thick overlock of knotted branches overhead did not make much of a shield against the afternoon sun. Alfred shone like a new penny when he passed through the dapples of golden light.

"My secret hiding place," he said, beaming.

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Alfred," he said patiently, "you've about as many secret hiding places as I've got silk neckties from London." This wasn't a brag, as such; more an admittance of despair.

"This is my original hideaway," Alfred said. "I'm happy to finally be able to show it to you, Arthur."

Arthur tripped on a root and righted himself with a curseword. Alfred gave a delighted yelp and came back to grab his hand. "Do be careful," he trilled. "It's dangerous."

Arthur pulled away his hand, embarrassed. "I-I'm fine by myself. You're distracting me."

Alfred simply grinned, bounding away as nimbly as a goat. Arthur struggled to keep up with him but was too proud to call him back, ask him to slow down. He didn't think that Alfred would really run off and leave him, besides.

Alfred's new – or old, as it were – hideaway was a long winding cave deep in the heart of the forest. It was so densely surrounded by trees and foliage that Arthur was quite sure he would have completely missed it had Alfred not been guiding him. Within it was cool and dry, a welcome respite from Boston's unforgiving dead-weight heat; and the ceiling cavernous, Arthur fancying that he could hear the leathern rustle of bats far above their heads. Alfred scampered ahead and Arthur lost sight of him, blindly groping after the pad of his feet.

"Alfred!"

"Worry not, I'm here." Alfred's voice sang to him across the cavern. Moments later came the flash of a match, the catch of a wick, and then Alfred was illuminated some paces away, clutching the candle like a star.

Arthur glanced about as he approached him. There was quite a number of small trinkets scattered about on the floor, wooden toys, coins, broken farming tools, twigs in odd shapes. There was also a pile of ragged blankets huddled against the wall. Arthur was suddenly struck with the unpleasant impression that he was looking upon all of Alfred's worldly belongings.

"Alfred..." He turned to him. "Is this... where you live?"

Alfred gave a cheerful shrug. "Sometimes."

"Where's your family?" Arthur half-expected this to be met with the usual rebuke but this time Alfred only tilted his head.

"I know not. I don't remember, I suppose."

"Did you get lost?"

"I suppose I must have." Alfred scrunched his nose. "But don't worry about me, Arthur. I like it here. I like the freedom."

"E-even so..."

"I wouldn't want to be like you," Alfred went on. "You're like a pretty bird in a cage." He spread his dirty hands at Arthur's beautiful clothes. "Are you not?"

Arthur sighed, looking away. "I... suppose so. Still, you... you don't have to live here, you could..."

"I told you, I like it here." Alfred flopped to the mossy ground. "I can do whatever I want. I don't have to read books or wear fancy clothes or hold a knife a certain way."

"Enviable, I'm sure," Arthur said; and indeed, he was a little envious, if in a somewhat dubious manner. It didn't sit right with him, no matter how bored he was, that he should come from such splendid beginnings and envy a peasant his squalor.

"But still..." He sank down next to Alfred, spreading out his coat just-so. "Don't you get lonely?"

"Well," Alfred said, looking at him, "I have you, Arthur." He sat up. "Are you not the same? You must be lonely too – but you have me."

Arthur, a little taken-aback, gave a smile. "Yes, you're right, I suppose," he said. "I do have you, Alfred."

Alfred sprang up suddenly. "Now I can show you this!" He scrambled away, darting out of the halo of flickering light; Arthur, who had always found his particular brand of minimal attentiveness to be fascinating, waited patiently, listening to him rummage. He could feel the damp from the moss beginning to soak through his breeches.

"What are you looking for?" he asked.

"You'll see... ah!" Alfred gave a cry of delight and returned triumphant, flopping down at Arthur's side with a thud. Clutched in his hand was a small wooden soldier, the paint badly worn away in places.

"This is my prized possession," he said grandly, holding it out to Arthur. "I found it in the river."

"I have ones like these," Arthur said, taking the toy. He turned it over in his hands. It was almost exactly like his own, although made more crudely, likely a cheaper variety sold in the toyshop in town. The red coat was little more than a pinkish stain on the wood.

"Or, rather, I had," Arthur corrected himself. "I had to leave them behind in England. I suppose I was too old for them, anyway."

"A pity," Alfred said, although he didn't sound too bothered. "Still, quite the find, don't you think?"

"Absolutely." Arthur handed it back, feeling slightly guilty. "To be treasured." He wished he still had his own set – a splendid regiment of twenty-four alongside their captain in a painted box – so that he could give it to Alfred, who seemed to find immense pleasure in this single damaged specimen.

"I should like to be a soldier, I think," Alfred went on, tilting the toy left and right. "What an adventure."

"Yes, I quite agree." Arthur lay back on the ground, letting out a breath. "Better than this, at any rate."

"Perhaps we could both join up together," Alfred said. He flopped down next to him, spreading out. "What fun!"

"You'll have to mend your ways," Arthur said dryly. "They don't tolerate thieves in the British Army."

"What about rapscallions?"

"I don't think they tolerate them, either."

"A shame." Alfred wriggled his bare toes and said nothing else.

Arthur closed his eyes, putting his arms behind his head. "Thank you for bringing me here," he said quietly. "It's nice. I wish... I could just stay here with you."

"I would like that, too," Alfred said, although he sounded fairly non-committal. Arthur frowned, not saying anything else.

"But I know you cannot." This came a few moments later. Again, Alfred didn't sound terribly bothered. Perhaps he was simply resigned.

Arthur opened his eyes. "No," he agreed. "I cannot."

Alfred rolled over towards him. "Then," he said, "as long as we can be friends for ever and ever, that would be alright with me."

Arthur looked at him for a long moment; then he smiled. "I think we could perhaps manage that," he replied.

"An oath." Alfred put out his palm. "Swear yourself to me, Arthur, and I to you."

Arthur laughed. "You're such a child – but very well." He pressed his palm to Alfred's sticky one. "I swear, Alfred."

"I swear, Arthur." Alfred was beaming. "I'm so happy. Now you are mine forever."

Arthur gave a snort. "You're mine, too, you little brat. Don't forget that."

"Oh," Alfred sang in delight, "I won't."

* * *

[II]

"I'm joining the army after my next birthday," Arthur said. "I'll be eighteen and my father won't be able to stop me."

Alfred – almost fifteen, already taller than Arthur – frowned at him across the table.

"Are you sure you still want to?" he asked. "What with everything that's been going on..."

"All the more reason," Arthur said coolly. "These colonists are threatening to revolt against the crown."

"You cannot see their point of view? It does seem unfair that they should pay taxes and have no vote."

Arthur looked at him archly. "They? You do not count yourself amongst them? You were born here."

Alfred grinned. "I do not count myself amongst anybody, Arthur. You know that."

"Well, soon you'll have to," Arthur replied. "It'll come to it, you know."

"A war?"

"I expect so."

"How exciting."

Arthur gave a huffy sigh. "Alfred, can you take nothing seriously?"

Alfred shrugged. "I cannot see what difference it will all make in the end. A war is a war, after all."

Arthur scowled. "Is that your way of saying that you do not approve?"

Alfred smiled. "Not at all. I simply do not see why you are taking it with such seriousness. All those books truly _have_ made you into a bore, it seems." He laughed, enjoying himself at Arthur's expense.

Arthur, who had been growing tired of him these past few months – beginning to find him silly and childish – hadn't the patience for him and got up, stalking out of the tavern. Alfred bounded after him, unfazed.

"Arthur!" he called cheerily. "Come on, don't be like that!" He grabbed at his arm, pulling him back before he could vanish into the evening bustle of Boston.

"Don't be like what?" Arthur retorted. "Mature? With forethought? Alfred, I take my future seriously, even if you do not!"

"Yes, that is entirely the problem," Alfred sighed, swinging on him. "You take everything so seriously, even after all I have done to unravel you."

"Oh, I _do_ beg your pardon," Arthur said coldly. "We are not children any longer, even if you will insist on acting half your age."

Alfred pouted. "Arthur, don't be unkind. We've always had such fun before." He held up his hand. "Besides, remember our oath?"

Arthur brushed past him, pushing away his hand. "Childish nonsense," he said.

"Maybe so," Alfred agreed, "but it was an oath nonetheless."

"You cannot hold me to that now," Arthur snapped. "I'm joining the army – and nothing you or my father say will stop me!"

"I'm not trying to stop you," Alfred said. "I just don't want you to leave me behind."

Arthur faltered. "W-well..."

"I mean, you're all I have." Alfred came closer. "I need you, Arthur."

Arthur looked away. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not. What else do I have in this world but you?" Alfred reached for Arthur's hand – but the older boy was quick to snatch it away. Alfred looked hurt.

"Arthur..."

"Look, can't you just leave me alone?" Arthur said bitterly. He turned away. "I can't have you tagging after me all the time anymore. It's... it's ridiculous, you're not even fifteen. Just go away, Alfred."

"You... you don't mean that."

"I do. Go away. Leave me be." Arthur folded his arms, refusing to look at him. His shoulders were tense, hunched up, ready to fiercely shrug Alfred away should he attempt to reach for him. No such venture came, however; not even a forlorn bleat of Arthur's name. When he looked back some moments later, ready to scold him again, Alfred was gone, vanished into the current of bodies.

 _Good_ , Arthur thought. He'd been meaning to rid himself of Alfred for ages; he was nothing but trouble, not to mention irritating and demanding. Arthur felt that he'd outgrown his fascination with him, that his affection had run completely dry. Now he was free of him – although the truth was that he'd never felt so miserable in all his life.

Arthur had intended to go straight home but instead he found himself weaving through Boston's streets to the outskirts where the forest began. There was a strange atmosphere in the town tonight, it was palpable, a strange buzzing current that ran through fingers and underneath tongues. Bad intentions, misdeeds, forethought. Stepping into the forest was like a breath of fresh air.

He knew his way by now, crunching over roots and twigs and hardened mud. He didn't know what he was going to say when he got there. He didn't even know that Alfred would be there. Perhaps he was out setting fire to barns to ease his sorrows – Arthur wouldn't have put it past him.

Alfred, however, was in the cave when he got there, sitting cross-legged in a circle of candles. He was playing idly with the toy soldier, his blue eyes dark. He regarded Arthur coldly as he came to the outermost edge of the circle.

"I recall you saying to leave you alone," he said. "That's what I have done – and now you come to me? Have I not retreated far enough for you?"

"I doubt you would have stayed gone for long," Arthur muttered. "Look, I apologise, Alfred. I was just being cruel."

"Hmph." Alfred scowled. "There was no call for it."

"I know. You just wear me out at times. Between you and Francis and my father–"

"Forget them," Alfred said, standing. "I am all you need, Arthur. I swore myself to you."

Arthur looked at him exhaustedly. "Alfred, I cannot survive with you alone. All things must end, all things must change–"

"Then why have you come here?" Alfred asked. "Why have you followed me – when you were the one who expressly said to leave you alone?"

"Because I was unkind," Arthur said, "and I agree that there was no real call for it. For all your mischievousness, you have always been a very precious friend to me, Alfred. I did not want to hurt you. I only thought that I did."

Alfred reached for his hand and took it, giving it a squeeze.

"I forgive you," he said. "You speak the truth, besides: I would not have quit you for long."

Arthur frowned at their clasped hands. "You always speak your intentions so freely," he said. "Even when they are unsavoury."

Alfred grinned. "Especially when they are unsavoury." He moved suddenly, seizing Arthur around his back, pulling him close.

"Alfred, what–?"

Alfred kissed him. Arthur went rigid in his grasp, his brain filling up with white noise. Alfred moved his hands up, grasping at his face, holding him tight. Arthur shoved his hands against Alfred's chest, pushing, but Alfred held him tighter still. Arthur managed to wrench his head free, gasping for breath.

"Alfred..." He pressed his elbow to the centre of the younger boy's chest, keeping him at bay. "H-how dare–"

"Oh, I dare." Alfred smiled at him, perfectly pleasant. "Isn't it what we both want?"

"When have I ever insinuated such–"

"You don't have to." Alfred reached for his face, stroking at his cheek. "You and I have an oath, a bond."

Arthur savagely smacked away his hand. "You make it sound like I sold my soul to you," he bit out. He wiped at his mouth.

Alfred simply smiled at him. He said nothing. Arthur gave a sigh of disgust and turned away.

"Is this your idea of a petty revenge? To unsettle me–"

"I would never do anything to make you upset, Arthur," Alfred interrupted. "You are very important to me."

"That will cut no ice with me now." Arthur began to walk away. "Goodnight, Alfred."

He didn't get very far. Alfred caught his arm, stopping him; his grasp was strong, far stronger than Arthur had ever felt it before, leading him away into the woods. He froze, his heart pounding, watching the ragged edges of the black trees beyond. No, he couldn't run fast enough.

"Don't go," Alfred whispered. He pressed up close behind him, his breath hot on his neck. "Stay with me, Arthur." He wrapped his arms around him. "I need you. Stay. Isn't that what you always wanted...?"

"It was, back... back then," Arthur said quietly. "But now I... I'm going to join the army, I–"

"Ahh, yes. To kill, to massacre, to wear a coat dyed red with blood." Alfred smiled against his neck: and his hand slid lower, pressing between his legs. "How delightful. Then I will have to love you all the more." He fondled at him through his breeches, rough and grasping.

"Why this?" Arthur hissed, his knees buckling. "Wh-why now...? Al-Alfred..."

" _Tonight_ ," Alfred replied, gnawing at his throat. "...After tonight, everything will change."


	2. II

I'm amazed, I actually managed to finish this within a week! This must be a new record for me!

Thank you to: **Tamitan, sleepy8hollows, Empress Vegah, susumi1234, HiItsUriChan, Narroch, Vanesce, InconsistentBabblings, suzako, alguien22792, Iggy Butt** and **cakeassistant**!

To The Slaughter

II

Arthur felt like he'd been torn open and left to die; and perhaps that wasn't too far from the truth.

He could only half-remember it, that Alfred had pushed him to the cold ground and ravaged him; how it had hurt, how it had burned, how he'd clung around Alfred's neck and bitten his shoulder. He had no idea if he'd wanted it or not, couldn't recall if he'd enjoyed it. All he knew was that he'd allowed it to happen.

He was lying in the middle of the circle of candles, his breathing ragged. Alfred had thrown one of the blankets over him afterwards and gone slithering away. He wasn't here now. Arthur was shocked at him; not that he'd done it, really, but that he'd had the strength to hold him down.

He forced himself up, righting his clothes with trembling hands. Alfred had torn off a few buttons in his haste; these he rammed into his pockets. He'd have to sew them back on tomorrow - his father was the sort to notice.

He wondered where Alfred had gone. He'd never seen him to show remorse or guilt for any of his misdeeds before and honestly didn't expect him to start now. No, he hadn't run off because he couldn't face Arthur, which was all the more unsettling. Perhaps he'd gotten a taste and was out trying his luck in the taverns...

No, he didn't think it was that, either. Alfred was too single-minded, much too focused on Arthur to show any interest in anyone else. Either way, Arthur wasn't waiting here for him to come back. He didn't know what he was going to say to him.

("Do you want to scream?" Alfred asked. "You can if you so wish. I don't mind.")

Despite himself, Arthur folded up the blanket and carried it across to the corner, carefully laying it atop the pile. Once more he wondered just how in hell Alfred could possibly live here (if it was even true; even now, Arthur only half-believed him). He looked at the wall above the pile of rags. He'd never really noticed before but there were thick gnarled roots twisted all over the surface of the damp rock, clinging tightly, almost embedded. He supposed he'd always been more interested in Alfred and the candles usually didn't cast out their light this far. He went to fetch one, holding it aloft, and followed the maze of roots along the length of the wall. They seemed almost warm to the touch and he fancied that they were whispering; not words that he could understand, more a strange calling that echoed deep within him, compelling. The caved narrowed and darkened and his candle flickered off the contours of the mass of roots spiralling all about him. His skin crawled, every inch of him screaming to turn back, that Alfred had secrets that he didn't want to uncover-

The pathway abruptly stopped. Before him, taking up the entirety of the cave's remainder, was an ancient black tree, well grown into the rock and earth. Amidst the crown of the roots, now as thick as his body, was the evidence of ground freshly disturbed.

Arthur took a step back, his heart skittering in his cold chest, dread cloaking him head to toe. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know.

The candle shook in his hand, the bright flash of light slithering over something sudden and white. He knew it was bone even before he looked; there was something about this place, a damp clinging air of horror that allowed it to be nothing but. He kicked at the loose soil with his boot, unearthing part of the grisly remains; glistening grimy bones picked clean by worms or by teeth. A ribcage, an arm, part of the pelvis. Too small for an adult, even a woman. It must be a child.

Not the work of animals, either. No beast would conceal the bones like that, not even a wolf. Alfred, who had always seemed to Arthur to be strange and supernatural, just on the cusp of humanity, was clearly a monster; and if not the sort in books then at the very least the sort who went amongst men.

As for Arthur, perhaps he'd made a lucky escape; or perhaps Alfred would come back and finish him off then. Perhaps he'd devour him, perhaps-

He fled. He ran back through the cave as fast as he possibly could, making it to the mouth and plunging back out into the forest. It was so dark that he could barely keep his footing, twice slipping, almost falling, but pure adrenaline forced him on. He had to get away, he had to get away. All the times he'd spent alone with Alfred now terrified him; had his whims only taken, those bones might have been his...

Boston was in an uproar when he ran panting into its heart; nobody noticed the state he was in, his coat torn, his face scratched and bloodied by briars. The place was lit up by an orange glow, the night sky black with the acrid overhang of smoke. Several buildings were on fire and the townsfolk frothed with their children and belongings and guns between the scatterings of Redcoats armed to the teeth. There was a dead man bleeding out into the gutter not four feet from him. All thoughts of Alfred and his ungodly horrors went tumbling out of his head.

He seized the arm of a passing Redcoat. "Sir, what's going on?" he pleaded.

The soldier angrily shook him off. "The colonists are rioting," he snapped. "Have you not eyes and ears, boy?" He threatened his bayonet at him and Arthur recoiled. "Get yourself home before I have you arrested." The soldier pushed past him, leaving him in the midst of the rabble.

At a loss, Arthur didn't know what else to do put push himself up against the wall of the tavern, watching the chaos unfold before him. He wasn't surprised, as such; it had been obvious that tension was brewing. But tonight... tonight it all seemed so engineered, so deliberate-

"What think you, Arthur?"

Arthur whirled at Alfred's voice purring low in his ear, his heart in his mouth. The younger boy was grinning at him, his hair and eyes radiant in the burning of Boston. He was wearing a soldier's torn scarlet coat.

Arthur stumbled back from him. He couldn't speak.

"Arthur?" Alfred tilted his head. "It is most unlike you to have nothing to say." He put out his open palms. "I asked you what you think. You always hated Boston, did you not?

"I-I didn't want _this_!" Arthur retorted.

"Oh." A line of slate came crashing down off the roof of a burning shop behind Alfred. "Well, I did not do this for you, anyway."

"...You did this?" Arthur glanced about, feeling rather faint. He looked at the dead man, recognising him as the blacksmith. "How... how could you possibly...?"

Alfred shrugged. "Well, humans to do not need much nudging."

Arthur took another long look at him; then turned on his heel and ran, pushing between the pulsing crowd. He didn't care where he was going, he just needed to get away from him, whatever he was, demon or worse...

The white church loomed up before him and he picked up his pace, scrambling over the gravel to the black doors. He hauled them open and ducked inside, half-expecting it to be full of terrified townsfolk, but instead he found it empty. Only he had sought refuge here tonight.

His boots echoed off the high whitewashed walls as he made his way down the aisle. It was a plain church, Puritan, with dark benches and an altar completely bare but for a table and a crudely-carved cross. He was reminded of the wooden soldier Alfred had found in the river years before.

"Arthur."

He froze in the aisle. Alfred wasn't demanding, rather cooing his name from the doorway.

"Now why would you run here?" he went on. He laughed. "Do you think I cannot follow?"

Arthur turned to him, clenching his fists. Alfred was standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Prove me wrong, then," Arthur said. "Step within, Alfred, and we shall see you for what you really are."

Alfred smiled. "To be perfectly truthful," he replied, "I thought you might have realised earlier than this. You are so very well-read, after all." For all this, he hadn't taken a step.

"Do you think you can buy time by mocking me?" Arthur asked. "Are you afraid, Alfred?"

"No," Alfred said, "but _you_ are."

Arthur was; and this was not remedied in the slightest by Alfred stepping through the doorway and into the church. His flesh did not twist and burn, as perhaps Arthur had been foolishly half-expecting, but in the bare light of the candles as he approached it was clear to see the black curl of horns, the flash of a long tail.

"You've forced me to drop my mask," Alfred said cheerily. "How bothersome. Still, you are the only one I would do it for."

"Y-you're a monster..." Arthur backed away, almost faint with terror.

"A devil," Alfred corrected calmly. "A creature who walks upon this earth to cause chaos and bloodshed amongst men. I do hope you'll forgive me, Arthur, for my earlier efforts have been paltry in comparison to tonight." He smiled as Arthur found hiimself up against the altar with nowhere else to run. "It is you I have to thank for that."

"...Me?"

"Indeed. You are my familiar. I chose you many years ago. I've been drawing my power from our friendship. Really, you have been very useful to me. Forming a bond between human and devil as strong as ours is rather difficult."

Arthur stared at him. He felt completely hollow. "Is... is that why you...?"

"Yes. I needed a lot more out of you to pull off something like tonight. I do hope it wasn't too unpleasant for you." Alfred grinned. "You seemed like you were enjoying it."

"Then... all this, the bad feeling in Boston, the colonists threatening to revolt..." Arthur shook his head at him. "The root of it all... has been you."

Alfred tilted his head again. "I already told you, humans do not need much in the way of nudging." He gave a shrug. "What difference does it make in the end? You want to join the army. Now there will be a war for you to fight in." Now he smirked. "Or did you just want a grand adventure without getting your hands dirty?"

"Be silent, demon!" Arthur hissed.

"Devil," Alfred corrected lazily. He came close, touched Arthur's face, smiling when he flinched. "Arthur, do not be cross with me. I have not lied to you, I have not betrayed you. We are still friends."

"As if I should call a creature like you my friend!" Arthur spat, pushing him away.

"Oh? First I was too young, now I am too inhuman?"

"I found the body in your cave," Arthur said in a low voice. He didn't care to look at him now. "The bones of a child. I cannot forgive you that."

"You cannot forgive me my own murder?"

Arthur's head snapped up. "What?"

"The bones are mine. I was murdered some years ago and my body concealed there." Alfred gave a shrug. "How else do you think I came to be as I am?"

"You're a liar," Arthur snapped. "Do you really think I'm going to believe that?"

"You are welcome not to," Alfred said calmly, "but it is the truth. That is how devils are born in this world. We are the souls of murdered children. That is why we are so cruel."

Arthur looked away. He didn't want to believe a word he was saying but something deep within him wouldn't allow him to deny it. Perhaps the shape of those bones, perhaps the whisper of those roots - which, by now, must have spread throughout all of Boston, beneath streets and houses and rivers. There was no escape now.

"So this is your revenge?" Arthur asked dully.

"We do not act for revenge," Alfred said. "We act according to our nature."

"...I see. And am I just a plaything to you? Something for you to drain?"

"Despite it all, Arthur, I do care very deeply for you," Alfred replied. "I should no longer be capable of human emotion but our friendship is real nonetheless. I truly believe that."

"I always thought something was amiss with you," Arthur mumbled. "That you lived alone in that cave, that you said you had no recollection of your family..."

"I haven't," Alfred said. "I've no recollection at all of who I was before I was murdered. I do not even know who killed me. I am merely an agent of human tragedy."

"So now you create more tragedy?"

Alfred smiled once more. "I do not think I am interfering too much. I am a helper of human nature, not a creator."

"And what of me now?" Arthur asked quietly. "Have you tainted me? Am I now to be confined to Hell?"

"Ah, because I took you?" Alfred smirked. "I think not. Such acts have no power over the soul. Not what the clergymen would have you believe, I agree, but true nonetheless."

Arthur said nothing. He wasn't sure that he believed him, not when the walls of this place had revealed the horns and tail so long hidden from his eyes. At length he pushed past him, walking away.

"Now where do you go?" Alfred asked, bounding after him. "You always walk away as though you think I can be severed from you."

Arthur gave a snort of disgust. "Are you to taunt me again with that oath? That was nothing, the promise of mere children-"

"But I was not a child, Arthur," Alfred trilled. "I was a devil."

Arthur stopped, a sudden wave of nausea rinsed through him. Alfred, he realised, was perfectly right.

"Then I," he said quietly, "have had a hand in this after all."

"I told you," Alfred explained patiently, "you are my familiar."

"Then, without me... you are powerless."

Alfred shrugged. "I suppose so," he agreed, "but it matters not now. The seeds are sown. Soon the fruit of war will bear."

"Yes," Arthur said. "I suppose so. The damage is done." He started away once more. "I am going home. I pray you do not follow."

"Fear presses you from my side." Alfred didn't sound terribly upset. "Very well. Until next time, Arthur."

Arthur wanted to whirl and retort, something along the lines of 'It's not fear, you hellion!'; but he didn't because it wasn't true. Even the truth about those bones hadn't eased his terror - it meant that Alfred was capable of worse.

He glanced back at him as he left the church; the devil bowed to him, the point of his tail flicking.

He'd never seen such a beautiful smile.

* * *

What came to pass, in the gloam of the morning, was that the colonists had stormed the ships and thrown the tea into the water. Even Arthur, at almost eighteen, who hadn't much knowledge of politics, knew that there probably wasn't much coming back from such a blatant act of defiance. He wondered if Alfred was really to blame and found that he didn't know. He supposed that it didn't make much difference in the end.

His father said that they were returning to England, which Arthur couldn't argue with. His business was, after all, in the trade of tea and such things had apparently worn out their welcome overnight. Besides, there wasn't much here for him anymore.

He waited three days before going to tell Alfred. By then most of their things were packed into chests and ready to go. He found Alfred in his cave, sitting cross-legged and busy carving something out of wood. He looked perfectly normal without the walls of the church to strip away his disguise; so much so that Arthur was wrong-footed. Alfred smiled at him, tilting his head.

"You didn't imagine it," he said pleasantly. "I truly am a devil. How... good of you to come so willingly once again to my lair."

"Indeed." Arthur wouldn't look at him. "I thought I should tell you that I am returning to England."

"Is that so?" Alfred went back to his carving. "And why is that?"

"Because... because my father's business is in the trade of tea-"

"Ah, of course. How forgetful of me." Alfred smirked. "Well, let him go. You're old enough, aren't you? Stay with me, Arthur."

Arthur snorted. "What, here in this disgusting cave with you? I think not."

"You wound me. I always thought you liked it."

"I did when I thought it was just a childish hideaway," Arthur countered. "Now I am aware that it is a grave - quite another matter entirely, I'm sure you'll agree."

"That's hardly my fault," Alfred said.

"But you insist that the other night was?"

Alfred looked up again, his blue eyes piercing. "I think that I should be honest with you," he said. "That is all."

"I confess that I only half-believe you," Arthur said coolly.

"Even though you saw my true form the other night?"

Arthur faltered. "Y-yes, I... I certainly did see your true form that night, didn't I?"

Alfred shrugged. "My intentions are never well-meaning, Arthur. You know that."

"I do know that," Arthur agreed icily. "The amount of times you've got me in trouble..."

"But we had fun, right?" Alfred beamed. "That's all that matters!"

"Well, the fun is over. I came to say goodbye. Despite everything..." Arthur paused. This was more difficult than he'd anticipated. "I-I feel that I owe you that much."

"Owe? You humans have a very strange concept of debt."

"...Yes, I suppose we do."

"In fact, if anything, _I'm_ the one in _your_ debt," Alfred went on. "Your friendship was what gave me the strength to spread my roots. I'm very confident that there will be a war now, Arthur - all thanks to you!"

Arthur turned away. "I'm glad... I could be of service to you."

"That's all? You aren't upset? Angry?" Alfred got up. "People are going to die, you know."

"I'm aware of how a war works."

Alfred padded closer to him. He was barefoot, as usual. "Don't you feel guilty? Not even a litle bit?"

"Why would I?" Arthur asked. "You said yourself that human nature doesn't need much in the way of nudging."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks in annoyance. It made him look very young all of a sudden. "Even so-!"

"Is that what you want from me?" Arthur interrupted. "Will that feed you as well? For me to beg you to stop, to throw myself at your feet and plead for mercy?"

Alfred gave a disgruntled shrug. He said nothing, looking rather sulky.

"I'm the one who wants to join the army, after all," Arthur said. He folded his arms. "Dear me, Alfred, even after all this time... I think you may have misunderstood me."

"Or underestimated you," Alfred said. He sounded curious now. "...You might be even more of a demon than me, Arthur."

"Perhaps so." Arthur started away. "Goodbye, Alfred. I hope I'll see you again one day."

"Wait!" Alfred caught his wrist, stopping him.

"Let go!" Arthur pulled. "I hope... you don't think you're going to-"

"No, I got what I wanted from you last night," Alfred interrupted. "Once. That's all I needed."

"How noble of you," Arthur spat. "So you really did just use me-"

"I didn't pretend otherwise," Alfred said. "Still, I don't want you to think that I don't care about you, Arthur. My motives aside, I do think very dearly of you. I want you to know that."

"A devil with a heart," Arthur said with an icy smile. "How very quaint."

"Maybe." Alfred grinned. "But then, I guess I don't really know how devils are meant to be, anyway. You're the only friend I've ever had." He pressed his carving into Arthur's palm. "At least take this; a charm, if you will."

Arthur uncurled his fingers and looked down at the whittled wood. It was the soldier Alfred had foun in the river years before, the red almost worn away to a whisper. He'd carved out a hole where the heart should be. Arthur exhaled through his nose. He didn't know what to say.

"I wish we could have been friends, Arthur," Alfred said. He looked down at the floor. "I mean... real friends. I wish I wasn't... well..."

Arthur looked at him. It was suddenly apparent just how young he was; that he'd been murdered and dumped here, left to fester beneath Boston, where nobody would find him, nobody would even notice until it was too late...

"Until next time." Arthur touched Alfred's cold cheek. There really was nothing else to say on the matter. "Whenever that will be."

"Oh, soon, I should think," Alfred said. He was back to his usual cheery self in a heartbeat, his eyes gleaming. "I hope you don't think you can outrun me for long."

* * *

[1777]

He'd dropped his musket miles ago. His fingers were so numb that he couldn't even remember letting it go.

He'd lost his battalion, too. Most of them had been killed and the survivors scattered, forced to flee on foot through the woods. It was snowing, the ground ankle-thick with it, and he knew he was being followed. They could see the bootprints and the blood.

He was so cold, so delirious with blood-loss, that he couldn't even feel the wound anymore. It was deep, a bayonet straight through the ribs, perhaps the puncture of a lung, he didn't know. Because it didn't hurt anymore, he felt that he was going to live.

But he couldn't run any longer. His knees were buckling with every step, boots sliding on the half-frozen sludge beneath the snow's virgin surface. He collapsed against a black naked birch, letting out an agonised breath that hung before him, freezing just beyond his teeth, his bleeding lip. He leaned back his head against the cold bark, fighting for breath. He understood now why they wore red coats; so you couldn't see yourself bleeding to death.

He slid down the trunk, his damp coat catching. He couldn't run anymore. Even the shouts of the Colonist forces – the newly-birthed United States army – seemed so far beyond him now that they were untroublesome. A dream, perhaps, or a memory.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

That voice. Arthur fought to open his eyes again. Alfred, in the colonists' blue and buff, was standing over him, his head tilted to one side. He was older, suddenly and startlingly handsome, and his hair had congealed into coal-black. His horns and tail were stark against the snow.

Arthur forced himself to grin. "Y-yes this is... exactly what I wanted, I cannot deny that..."

He fumbled inside his coat. He couldn't feel the ends of his fingers.

"You're dying, Arthur," Alfred said, as though he hadn't expect Arthur to agree with him.

"Am I? I h-hadn't noticed..." Arthur found what he was looking for and pulled it out, holding it up. Alfred's crooked soldier, coat stained red with bloodied fingerprints, stood to attention atop his quivering palm.

Alfred smiled. "Some good luck charm, huh?"

Arthur let out a long shaky breath. His vision was starting to blacken around the edges. The soldier fell from his trembling hand, tumbling over the snow, and he followed it moments later, collapsing against the tree's gnarled roots. Alfred watched him with interest, tilting his head like a curious sparrow.

"Heh... H-have you... c-come for my soul?" Arthur reached for him but his stained hand closed only about a handful of snow. "Or did you only come... t-to watch me die...?"

(Alfred sat opposite him, licking his fingers clean. The soldier lay on the snow between them.

"Arthur," he said, "...I just didn't want you to be alone. We made a promise, after all.")


End file.
